


the perfect subject

by Dandybear



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:19:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dandybear/pseuds/Dandybear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A character study, Five Times Max Caulfield took someone's picture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the perfect subject

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics are from:  
> Kate: Stay With Me - Sam Smith  
> Victoria: For Good - Wicked  
> Dana: New Romantics - Taylor Swift  
> Warren: The Scientist - Coldplay  
> Chloe: Blackbird - The Beatles
> 
> I thought these particular lyrics suited the moment/this character's relationship with Max at the time, not necessarily the character. 
> 
> It was supposed to be a bunch of short character studies to get me back into the groove of writing. Then I got really involved in writing Vicxine. I am shipper trash.
> 
> Kate and Dana are very important.

Kate is a musician. It shows in the way she hammers her pencil eraser against the desk, in the nervous jitter of her knee, always at a four-four beat. She bites the nails of her long, deft fingers. Those fingers belong holding frets and bow.

 

She’s got this easy grace that most people miss. It’s part of her appeal. The reason boys like Nathan Prescott want to get her naked on film.

 

Well that and her heavy green eyes and red, red lips.

 

Kate Marsh belongs on stage making her violin weep for the world, not sobbing in a girls bathroom.

 

Kate’s the first model Max uses at Blackwall. They’re classmates and Max wants to show everyone how beautiful Kate is when she’s consenting to being filmed.

 

She can’t wait for spring because Kate would be the perfect model for floral shoots. Instead she settles for crackling autumn leaves and a sky of grey-blue.

 

Kate shows up in a white dress and cream cardigan. It leaves Max’s mouth a little dry. They go out to the woods behind campus and look for ground not covered in cigarette butts, candy wrappers, and condoms.

 

Max has her Nikon with her. Polaroids are nice for single shots, but a good professional shoot needs something more heavy duty.

 

The wind catches Kate’s hair tossing it around her like a cyclone. As the sun sets she looks like a spectre among the blackened tree limbs. A ghost girl, doomed to haunt Blackwall.

 

Max’s heart clenches. She’s very worried about Kate Marsh.

 

“Is that enough? I’m getting tired.” Kate says.

 

She’s curling her shoulders forward and a shadow cuts a stripe across her face. Everything about her is vulnerable.

 

Max takes a picture.

 

“Last one. Sorry, you looked like some kind of elven princess there.” She says.

 

She’s such a dork. Kate smiles a real smile, not that heartbreaking half-grimace she usually shoots Max.

 

“Nerd.” Kate says.

 

“Come on, I’ll buy you a London Fog.” Max says.

 

They link arms on their way back. Max holds a little too tight, tethering Kate to the ground.

 

_Stay with me._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Victoria strong arms Max into taking pictures of her. Not that Max really minds. Victoria pays for a professional studio and it’s a little preview of what’s to come if she ever gets to go professional.

 

The secret about Victoria is that she wanted to be a model before deciding to become a photographer instead.

 

Why?

 

She’s too short. By one inch.

 

Well, not technically,  many agencies take girls at about 5’7 if they’re good walkers. Victoria, for all her money, is neither graceful nor long and leggy enough to walk the runway.

 

She just tells everyone it’s because she’s too short.

 

It suits her personality though. Little man complex to go with that heavy dose of power trip, attention issues, and privilege that Max calls ‘rich person angst’.

 

Max, despite being ‘hella’ short, does not have a little man complex. Much power her tiny hipster waif form holds, yes. (She needs to lay off the Star Wars. Blaming Warren.)

 

Victoria drives them to an empty warehouse studio in her ridiculously expensive car. Seriously, who gives a Benz to an eighteen year old?

 

The warehouse looks a lot more intimidating in person. As Max steps out of the car she wonders if this was the last place Rachel Amber saw before she disappeared.

 

Why did she agree to this again?

 

Oh, right, because Victoria offered her money. And threatened her. And texted her obsessively for like three days.

 

“Let’s get this over with.” Max sighs.

 

Victoria’s posture hardens. She power walks ahead of Max, giving her a nice view of the back of a tight pencil skirt.

 

Do not look at the enemy’s ass, Max, she tells herself.

 

There’s a reception inside with a living person and a security guard and everything. Max feels a little more assured that Victoria isn’t going to murder her or cover her in tar and feathers or whatever.

 

Victoria flashes her credit card and Max fiddles with her camera to ignore the bill. Jesus, who can throw money like that around?

 

“Come on, Loser.” Victoria says.

 

Max rolls her eyes, the security guard sees and chuckles.

 

“When’s the wedding?” He asks.

 

Max can’t help but grin at that.

 

“Ask her.” She says.

 

Victoria trips a little. Max folds her teeth over her lips, trying not to laugh and pretending not to notice. Victoria’s head whips around, daring Max to say something.

 

She does say something.

 

“Wow.”

 

The studio is huge.

 

It’s got this 90s rave dungeon vibe to it.  Or at least she thinks so from what she’s seen of Spaced and Blade.

 

There’s also a bed which Max ignores because it’s sketchy as fuck.

 

In her rational mind she thinks about tired models and using the space to imitate a more intimate bedroom shoot.

 

Victoria is looking at her expectantly. She’s shrugged off her yellow peacoat and is standing there in a collared shirt and tie with that tight skirt looking something like a young Twiggy.

 

“What kind of shots do you want?” Max asks.

 

“You’re the photographer, direct me.”

 

Determined to make things difficult. Fine Victoria. Max is going to photograph the fuck out of her.

 

Victoria should not be paired with negative space. She is a negative space. A vortex of sucky person.

 

Hey, maybe that’s why she’s the leader of the Vortex Club!

 

Max pairs Victoria with walls covered in noise and pattern. Her muted colours and hard angles stick out against the more organic and warm shapes. Max snaps shot after shot.

 

Victoria looks so timid and small in this large room. Her giving Max the reins is a dizzying power trip.

 

“Sit on that chair. Curl up in it.” Max says.

 

She’s a little impressed with the authority in her voice. Victoria obeys and it kind of awakens something in both of  them.

 

Max turns on a the lamp next to the chair to make Victoria’s pupils shrink. She wants the light to catch that honey colour Victoria’s eyes turn when the sun’s on her face.

 

She looks at Max with lips parted and legs pressed to her chest. Max wants to get closer, pin her against the sofa and get that real look of fear.

 

She catches herself with one knee on the arm of the chair and panting for breath.

 

“Let’s take a break.” Max says, turning around.

 

She can hear the air escaping from the protest that fails to reach Victoria’s lips.

 

“I’ll go change.” Victoria says.

 

Because of course she has different outfits for the shoot.

 

Max’s hands shake on the camera. She can hear the hiss of clothing racks being moved and the soft thud of dropped clothing. To distract her from the fact that Victoria Chase is undressing behind her, she inspects the studio for spots to shoot. There’s a big window that must make the place a bitch to heat. Still the intersecting lines make good guides for the rule of thirds.

 

“I’m ready.” Victoria says.

 

Max turns around and then back again. Her face is hot. Of course this was some kind of fucking prank. Where’s the hidden camera, Victoria?

 

She’s wearing a fucking schoolgirl uniform and thigh highs like something out of a creepy highschool anime.

 

“Nope. I am not participating in the sexualization of underage girls.” Max says.

 

Victoria’s glaring at her and looking a little put out. She crosses her arms, hugging herself.

 

“Whatever. You pick something then.”

 

Max tenses. This is definitely a set up. Victoria’s going to trick her into picking clothing and then start some kind of rumor about Max having a schoolgirl fetish or something.

 

“Fine.” She grinds out.

 

Victoria drags her to the racks by the hand not carrying a camera.

 

“You better not dress me like fucking Macklemore. Just because you’re hipster garbage doesn’t mean you have to make me look like trash.”

 

And things were going so well.

 

“But shit, it was 99 cents.” Max mutters.

 

The rack has exactly what she’s looking for and it makes her more than a little suspicious. Tight sweater, plaid skirt,  and a pair of saddle shoes.

 

“Put these on.” Max says in her no-nonsense voice.

 

“Yes sir, Mr. Lynch.” Victoria says.

 

She takes them without skipping a beat. Max is a little speechless.

 

“Oh, don’t gawk. Honestly, you nerds think you’re so special and that cult shows on Netflix are still so obscure. We live in the fucking Pacific Northwest, Max, Twin Peaks is part of the culture.”

 

“Then shut up and put on the outfit before I change my mind and wrap you in plastic.”

 

Max is a little surprised at the words that just came out of her mouth. Shit. Rewind. Rewind.

 

“I think that shoot would be more Rachel’s style.” Victoria serves back in a thick and dangerous tone.

 

“You really must’ve hated her.”

 

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“I’ve seen you tearing down her posters, Victoria.”

 

Victoria struts out from behind the racks. She’s transformed into Audrey Horne. All mischief masking danger masking good intentions.

 

“Chloe’s so pathetic. Still clinging to Rachel when she’s the one who dragged her down.”

 

She throws a suit at Max.

 

“Put this on.”

 

Max is conflicted. Anything Victoria’s size will dwarf her. Also, again, set up for a prank. She should give Victoria the benefit of the doubt. The girl has already been pretty vulnerable around her.

 

She uses the rack as a barrier between them and hangs up her hoodie, t-shirt, and jeans. She wonders about wearing her converse with the suit. That’s a thing. Very Tenth Doctor.

 

The suit fits her. Not perfectly, but better than a lot of her other garments.

 

“Victoria. Why is this suit tailored for me?”

 

Victoria swipes her hand around the shell of her ear like she’s pushing hair behind it.

 

“I just thought maybe you’d want to switch or whatever.”

 

“You mean you take pictures of me?”

 

“Yeah, or we could set up a timer.”

 

Max squints at Victoria who is fiddling with something. She walks toward Max and holds out a red tie.

 

“To complete the ensemble. May I?”

 

She gestures to Max’s neck. Strangulation isn’t the way she wants to go, but she can always reverse time if this is a bad idea.

 

Instead she goes for the gesture of good faith and lets Victoria tie her tie.

 

It’s odd, not a bad odd, but enough to give her pause, being face to face with Victoria and not arguing. She feels Victoria’s breath brush her forehead. She sees the little pinch between Victoria’s eyebrows as she concentrates on her task.

 

It’s then that it hits her. Victoria is dressing her like Agent Cooper.

 

The Agent Cooper to her Audrey Horne.

 

That’s… implying something. Something dangerous and unexpected. Thrilling. That’s the right word.

 

Victoria tightens the knot, but her hands linger at Max’s collar.

 

Max’s breath is coming in short. She can feel the blood rushing to her ears and all she can smell is Victoria. Her perfume mixed with new clothes smell and probably pheromones because her eyes are almost black.

 

She pulls Max up by the collar and kisses her.

 

The reaction to the marriage comment. The schoolgirl skirt. The ‘good morning’ text messages and lunch hours with Victoria following her around.

 

Victoria Chase has a crush on Max Caulfield.

 

Lord help her, Max is only human.

 

She’s not showing these pictures to Mr. Jefferson. No, Victoria, not even the tame ones.

 

They lock fingers on their way out. The security guard tips his hat to Max. She smiles. Victoria pulls her closer.

 

The chill air doesn’t feel so cold this time around and Victoria lets her pick the music on their way back.

 

She picks ‘For Good’ and Victoria scoffs at her.

 

“If you expect me to sing--I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives.”

 

They belt along even if they’re not the best singers.

 

_I do believe I have been changed for the better, because I knew you_

_I have been changed for good._

 

* * *

 

 

Max’s introduction to Dana Ward was similar to being hit by a bus. Except that bus was a tall and busty cheerleader. Having met Victoria and her goons the same day, Max was expecting assault. Instead, Dana picked her up in a hug.

 

“Dana, consent!” Juliet chastised her.

 

“Look at her, Juliet! She’s so small and dejected looking. It’s like seeing a puppy in the rain. You can’t just leave it there.”

 

Max just stays limp in hopes that it will soon be over. Well, actually, she really did need a hug, but stranger danger.

 

“I’m sorry about her. Juliet Watson, and this is Dana Ward, the Amy Poehler to my Tina Fey.”

 

“So, your heterosexual life partner?” Max says once she’s back on the ground.

 

They look at each other and shrug.

 

“Sure, let’s go with that.”

 

And since then, Juliet, a person with boundaries gives Max polite head nods or says hi in the halls. Dana, a person lacking in boundaries, will drag Max into her room for impromptu movie nights, snuggles, and photo shoots.

 

Max’s pictures of Dana are the least polished. She’s beautiful, but not model material. Dana is best observed in motion. Max likes the blurry polaroids of her the best. It’s like she’s bursting with too much life to fit into the frame.

 

_The best people in life are free._

 

 

* * *

 

 

Warren reacts to her offer as expected. He tries to play it cool about how excited he is. The girl he likes wanting to take pictures of him? Mathematical!

 

Max doesn’t tell him it’s because she needs at least one dude in her portfolio.

 

“So, where do you want me?” He says.

 

Max sighs.

 

“Just pretend I’m not here. Work on an science equation or something.”

 

“You really have no idea how I spend my time do you?” Warren says.

 

“Other than texting me thirty times a day?” Max says.

 

That’s an awkward silence.

 

“I’m going to make an emulator box shaped like a Minecraft brick.” He says.

 

“So, a regular brick then?” She says.

 

“You know nothing, Max Caulfield.” Warren puts a hand over his heart as if wounded.

 

He sets about with a set of screwdrivers, some lego bricks and a weird computer chip.

 

“This motherboard is called the Raspberry Pi. It’s the go-to motherboard for any classic emulator. It’s pretty cheap too, only forty five bucks.”

 

He goes on, but Max is focusing on the little details. His biceps are deceptively strong and the muscles bunch and stretch in them while he works. He hasn’t shaved in three days, so there’s a little bit of peach fuzz. Enough to make him look less babyfaced.

 

Warren’s animated and attentive at the same time. He’s so passionate about what he’s talking about. All waving arms and intense eyes. It makes for interesting pictures, if not conventional.

 

She wants to get a picture of Warren surrounded by stars. A lone spaceman looking for answers and something new to explore.

 

So she agrees to get in his car with him and drive down to the beach. She makes him stand on a sandbar at low tide. The sun setting behind him turns the sea to sky. The effect makes Warren look weightless.

 

“Max! It’s cold out here! Are you done?”

 

“Yeah, come back in!”

 

Warren shoots Max an adoring look. She misses it, looking at a sexy text from Victoria that makes her ears burn against the cold air.

 

_Questions of science, science and progress_

_Do not speak as loud as my heart_

 

 

* * *

 

 

If Max had to say name one person as her muse, it would be Chloe Price.

 

Chloe doesn’t need direction or even a backdrop. Chloe just needs to be given the go ahead. Then she’ll fill every frame Max takes.

 

Rachel Amber was good at being whatever anyone needed her to be. “Mercurial” as Evan said. In the end pictures of Rachel were only what the artist wanted to see. A mirror.

 

Chloe can’t ever be anything but herself. She wears nothing but a wife beater and briefs to a shoot and looks like some kind of tragic rock star. In one hand she holds a beer bottle by the neck, the other hand twists in her hair.

 

“I’m getting copies of these, right?” Chloe says.

 

“Of the good ones.” Max says.

 

Chloe sits on her messy desk. She’s backlit by the window, leds making a tiny rainbow reflected on her bare thigh.

 

She shoots Max that broken, hopeful look. Click. Now a shit eating grin. Click. She flips Max off with both hands.

 

“Nice.”

 

“Do you want me to bend over the desk like a naughty secretary?”

 

“As tempting as it sounds, it’s more tempting to get you dressed and out chasing birds. I wanna recreate that picture of you downstairs.”

 

“Wow, way to flirt with a girl, Max. It’s no wonder you’re so popular.”

 

“I play guitar, I don’t need to be good at flirting.”

 

Chloe picks up a pair of jeans off the floor, sniffs them, shrugs, and then puts them on. They’re mens cut and somehow it looks even better on Chloe. She throws a hoodie with a broken heart on over her wife beater, foregoing a bra.

 

“Let’s get some brunch at the Two Whales. I need to ask Mom if she’s good for the mortgage payment this month.”

 

Max inhales through her teeth and really wishes she could pay Chloe more for these photos than gas money and their bill at the diner.

 

Which makes it look like a date to Joyce who raises her eyebrows to see them at a booth together for the third time this week.

 

And it could and might have been a date if Chloe wasn’t running a beaded bracelet that belonged to Rachel over her lips and Max wasn’t looking at the series of emoticon hearts sent by Victoria.

 

“Two burger plates for my two favourite teenage misanthropes.” Joyce says.

 

It snaps them out of their reverie to look up at her.

 

“So glad to see you girls reconnecting.” She ruffles Max’s hair like she’s eight again.

 

Max groans and Chloe flashes that winning smile.

 

“Chloe, we need to have a talk when I get home.” Joyce says.

 

She’s beckoned away by a patron. Chloe sighs and puts her elbows on the table.

 

“Thank you for this lovely indigestion to go with my meal, Mom.” She says.

 

Max takes a picture.

 

“Enough, Woman! Put that thing away at the table.”

 

“That’s what she said.” Max says.

 

Chloe shakes her head. Max innocently chews a fry. Chloe breaks and slides her hand across the table for a low key high five.

 

“This is why we’re friends.”

 

“I thought it was so you could steal my ketchup.”

 

Chloe dunks several fries mercilessly and eats them with a cheshire smile and satisfaction.

 

“That too.”

  
  


There’s a flock of pigeons in the parking lot. Max looks pleadingly at Chloe. Chloe sighs.

 

“If any of them shit on me then you’re the one doing my laundry. Or rewinding time or whatever.”

“You have my word.” Max says.

 

Chloe runs through the pigeons, disturbing them and whooping like mad. Max takes shot after shot of Chloe, the birds, grey concrete and white feathers. She has a vision of Chloe flying away on her own blue pair of wings. Free as a butterfly caught in a net.

 

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly._

_All my life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive._

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
